


The Assassin Project

by cinnamon_printemps



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Character Death, Drug Use, Drugs, Food Poisoning, Friendship, Hate to Love, I don't know what else to tag, I'm Sorry, Idiots in Love, M/M, Modern Assassins, United Kingdom, Whatever you can think of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-13 21:12:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11768475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnamon_printemps/pseuds/cinnamon_printemps
Summary: UK drowns in drugs and the Parliaments solution is to put drugs under the punishment of execution, no exceptions.Louis always liked to be save in life, be careful and all that jazz. He also always had a liking for weed.The moment weed became illegal he signed his own death sentence with a freshly lighted blunt.Or:Louis does drugs, Harry doesn't.The other boys are solely for decoration.





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> No mature warnings yet (except if the description of death triggers something).  
> I'll tell you if something that might be triggering will happen.
> 
> Have fun reading :)

1\. —(1) There shall be constituted on accordance with Schedule The Advisory 1 to this Act an Advisory Council on the Use and the Possession of Drugs (in Council ��[…]

(2) It shall be the duty of the Advisory Council to keep under review the situation in the United Kingdom with no respect to drugs wich are being or appear to them likely to be used and of with the sole possession of them constitute a social problem. The sole possession of those and the mere connection to a person in use or in possession of drugs is strongly prohibited and is punished with execution. 

(3) It shall be the duty of the Advisory Council to establish an organisation solely devoted to the act of seeking out and executing those who are in possession, in use of drugs or are connected to / in contact with a person who is likely to be in possession or in use of drugs as listed in (4). There shall be no boundaries of privacy in detecting the use and possession of drugs.

(4) It shall be the duty of the Advisory Council to keep the list of the materials and substances which fall within the category “drug and substance with an anaesthetic effect” updated. Exceptions to substances with an anaesthetic effect are substances used in official royal clinics for the sole purpose of medication or surgery.   
Under the category “drug and substance with an anaesthetic effect” fall the following materials and substances:

• Amphetamines; also referred to as: speed, whizz  
• Alprazolam; also referred to as: Xanax  
• Cocaine; also referred to as: Coke, white, snow, charlie  
• Codeine;   
• Ecstasy/MDMA; also referred to as: XTC, MD, mandy, molly  
• […]  
• Cannabis; also referred to as: weed, dope, grass, hash, Mary J., Bob Hope,…

 

Louis squinted at the flickering screen of his phone, reading over the notification send out by the parliament when there were any law alterations, or in this case another drug added to the infinite ongoing list of drugs. 

Stan leaned back on his chair, balancing on only two already creaking legs, about to tip over and barely keeping his balance. 

“Anything new?” His voice was muffled by the joint between his lips, exhaling a puff of smoke while he spoke, eyes rimmed red and unfocused. 

His phone, as well as Louis’, had given off a loud dinging sound as the notification from the parliament came in. All over the country people were likely to receive in a way the news that there was another drug on the list.

With furrowed eyebrows Louis scanned the list again, searching for the bold letters marking the addition. He nodded shortly when he found it, taking another deep drag from his own joint, resting casually between his finger, before he cared to answer.

“Yeah.” He nodded slowly, eyes glazed over in a drug induced haze. “They’ve finally put weed on the list.” 

With a kind of boredom he could only list when he’s been smoking for hours, he blew the smoke out and watched it linger in the room, clouding it like some weird kind of strange smelling fog.

Years ago a wave of drugs had rolled over Britain leaving the Queen and the Parliament desperate for a way to regain prevalence over the cause. Apparently the only solution that came to their mind was putting drugs under the punishment of execution. They were only partly successful tho. Apart from dead bodies as a resolution of an overdose, now dead people with a tiny hole, only noticeable when you took a closer look, right between their eyes littered the streets. 

The punishment of execution did apparently not include a fair trial and hearings but a simple bullet with your name written on it. You’d never know that you even where on the hit list. Not up to the moment when you have this strange pricking sensation in your neck, knowing you are watched, only to pop your clogs seconds later with a delicate circular hole between your eyes and an even tinier trail of blood tickling down the side of your face and mixing with the dirt on the ground you just happened to walk on. You’d just fall to the ground, drop dead, like a marionette with cut cords, limbs a grotesque arrangement, hard pavement cutting in your cheeks. Not that you’d have cared anymore, mind you. 

Louis considered the whole affaire laughable. In his very own opinion, which he kept very very quiet, it would have been way more effective to start public education with rehabilitation centres and such instead of dead people littering the streets like odd obstacles you had to get over in order to go to work or to the supermarket.

The open use of drugs had noticeable declined after the Parliament had shown that the new law was indeed no joke and cars crashed in the streets causing more casualties because one driver used to take DMT. People were afraid of the new regime and even more of the ones who pulled the trigger. Because nobody knew where those assassins where coming from. Of course the drug scene existed in the underground, even the smallest deal resembled a death wish nowadays and everybody tried to keep quiet about it. But what if some assassins where right there? In the middle of the underground scene, lurking in the shadows like those who were waiting for the right moment to get the next shot. Maybe they were even some of them buying the stuff, pushing some money with trembling hands in the ones of an impatient dealer, waiting to get out of the spotlight and away, just to be found dead in their living room, feet propped up on a dirty coffee table, tv still running, seemingly asleep apart from the tale telling hole between their eyes.

It was a mystery where they came from and where they went after they had gotten even more dirt on their hands. Because there was no difference between those who’d literally walk over dead bodies to get their hands on meth or such and family dads working overtime and just trying to relax for mere five minutes. The law and those who exert it were cruel and Louis was not really keen on ever finding out how fast they would track him down and send him back home to his mother in a wooden box with a hole in his forehead.

Still, up to now weed had not been strictly illegal. Sure, buying and selling was prohibited like everything else. But you wouldn’t have been killed because you smoked some pot. Now tho tables have turned. With the small pop up notification on their phones, the joint between Louis finger had turned into his death sentence.   
His death had been announced by a simple and innocent “Bing” sound.

He was sure that the assassin force already had their barrels pointed at various people out there and the triggers pulled the moment the update was made official, not giving them the chance to drop their weed-present for a drug free and legal future. 

And right now with the smoke of his fifth joint in row clouding his brain and slowing down its proper function, he didn’t really give a fuck. Instead he put the spliff back between his lips, inhaling deeply with closed eyes and being grateful that the room he and Stan were in was tucked away between blocks of office buildings where nobody would ever guess people would use drugs and underground with no windows . Another plus point was that there was nobody who would have been able to tell where Louis might has disappeared to. He had broken with his family due to some father issues years ago and his only real friend was sitting right beside him, signing his death certificate by building and lighting another joint. 

Also there was no chance they would ever find him. He was picky with who he mixed with or talked, barely made friends because you’d never know who you can trust or not and he was very careful covering up his tracks. Plus, he was the one who bought the weed. Always when the sun was deep, shadows long and his face in either the early or late light barely recognisable. He usually got out of his way to buy something, dressing like some geeky librarian, sweater vest, brown slacks, hair neatly parted on the side and slicked back with gel and his old black rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He also tended to switch dealer every other week, not caring if they were laughing at him. If the assassin force was knocking down his door they wouldn’t be able to compare his tattooed self in ripped skinny jeans and ratty old shirts, scuff and piercing blue eyes with the geeky boy who wore his slacks fresh ironed and was always cleaned shaved with dark brown eyes peeking through the thick glasses. 

Plus he knew he’d never leave so much as a single fingerprint. An accident in his youth caused parts of his skin to burn and scar. Luckily including all of his ten fingertips. He could go out robbing banks, murdering people and touch every surface on purpose. Nobody would be able to find him.

He was a 100% certain nothing would ever happen to him if he just kept on being careful.

So he thought.


	2. The shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter up! Hope you enjoy!

Louis had to admit he was mildly surprised.

He wasn’t quite sure if he was surprised that it took them just two month to track him down or that they’ve already found him two month after weed had been put on the illegal drug list. 

The first hint that they were closer to him that he previously thought was - perhaps - the disappearance of several weed dealers Louis had ever been in contact with. He should have gotten suspicious when some others refused to deal with him. Word got around. And nobody really wanted to be the next dealer disappearing because they handed the nerd with the glasses a few grams of weed.

The second and maybe biggest hint was Stan’s death. They weren’t cramped up in their usual spot where they felt untouchable and invincible. It was a day like all the others when they used to smoke, watch crappy reruns on TV and eat junk food all day. Only this time they were in Louis’ flat. And when Stan left there was no sound, no noise but the tale telling soft thud of a body hitting the ground.

Louis wanted to scream, wanted to run out and drag his friend back inside, shake him until he’d wake up and laugh, telling him that he successfully pranked him.  
But he couldn’t. All he was able to do was to crouch right under the window, listening to the exasperated sighs of his neighbours as they had to step over the body on the pavement. It has come this far.. People wouldn’t even scream anymore when they saw a person on the pavement with a bullet in their head and their brain splattered all over the cobblestones. It was quiet for about twenty minutes then. Just some cars passing until a truck stopped right outside of Louis’ flat.

After nobody cared for getting rid of the corpses in the streets the Parliament founded another organisation apart from the Assassin Force.  
The ones that came by to clean up the mess the assassins left behind. They’d pick up the bodies, check their identities and send them off in a simple wooden coffin to either a graveyard or to their families. 

And those people stopped outside of Louis’ flat right now. He’d recognise the sound of those trucks instantly. He saw and heard them too often drive by to not know the difference between the Clean Up Force trucks and normal ones.

Louis desperately wanted to look up. Peek out of the window. Watch them carry away his best friend and load him in a truck where various other bodies already waited to be identified. The urge to jump up and run outside was so strong Louis had to fight it with every fibre of his very being. 

He knew they were still there. Still outside just waiting for him to either step outside or show himself in the window. Waiting for him to make himself an easy target. The assassins were very patient. But Louis refused to give in. To give up. Neither Stan nor his family would have wanted that. Although for very different reasons. Stan knew Louis was a fighter and that he yet had to leave his imprint on this world. His family on the other side simply wasn’t able to afford a proper funeral. 

Louis didn’t give up. But he allowed himself to break down for once. In the quiet of his small flat he sat crouching on the ground, legs pulled to his chest, rocking back and forth, biting down on his left hand to suppress screaming out loud, violent sobs shaking his body like a ship on the storming sea, hot tears streaming down his cheeks. 

It took him about three weeks not to get over Stan’s death but to arrange his life around his loss and functioning properly again. Although he didn’t touch a single blunt again since that day. 

He moved through Londons streets with new found wariness, always throwing a glance or two over his shoulder, the feeling of being watched a constant companion. He wasn’t quite sure if a life hiding and running was worth living it but he carried on with his job and even managed to squeeze some casual hook ups into his carefully planned routine.

Still, he was mildly surprised when he was on his way to work at the crack of dawn, walking in the middle of the street because he didn’t trust the shadows looming right next to the buildings. The mist still lingering over the asphalt and his breath like little puffs of white smoke right in front of him.

The feeling of being followed crept up on him slowly, steadily. Like ice cold fingers making their way up his spine to his neck just to grip him tightly, sending shivers and goosebumps down his arms. The prickling sensation that makes you want to twist around spread from his neck over his whole body, leaving him thrumming with energy. Ready to make a run for it. 

He stood in the middle of the street, not daring to move. The assassins usually shot people down within seconds, not giving them even the chance to consider being eliminated the next moment. But Louis was still standing, heart beating against his rip cage, pulse raging he could have sworn he was able to hear his blood thrumming through his veins. 

He was a hundred percent certain that they were there. Watching him. Taunting him because they knew he felt them. Felt their eyes on and their barrels pointed at him. They were taunting him with every passing second in which they dragged on his life. In which they refused to shoot him. Like they were waiting for something. For him to snap. To scream or beg. 

Probably beg, Louis thought. 

They probably wanted him down on his knees, hands clasped together in a pleading manner, tears streaming down his face and cheeks all blotchy from crying, voice shaky and broken, begging them to either let him go or just kill him. To stop torturing him with the uncertainness. 

To be honest, the waiting made his skin crawl. Louis was clenching his fists so tightly, he was sure his nails would leave blood red moon shaped marks on the inside of his hands.  
It was the sound of footsteps on the damp pavement that made him turn around abruptly. Barely a soul was out yet and still… there was a man walking down the very street Louis was standing on, waiting for his executioner to take him down. 

The man came closer, dressed in a black leather jacket, white shirt and black skinny jeans. His hair was probably very long, Louis could tell, because the man had his hair up in a bun, some curls sticking out. 

The man was just a few meters away, smiling brightly right at Louis. He was tall, way taller than Louis, but slim with plush lips and pretty green eyes, small shadows underneath like he hasn’t slept much. 

In the back of his mind Louis registered that this man, walking right at him, would be definitely one he’d go for. It was only mere seconds later when he felt his heart drop, heat shooting up his spine, making him slightly dizzy. 

This man, this really stunning man, was in danger. Great danger. The assassins were still there, watching him and if this man just as much as seemed like he knew Louis even the slightest, the Clean Up Force would have to pick up two bodies instead of one. 

His lips pressed together, Louis tried to tell the other man to leave. But his little head shakes, the scared look in his eyes and even the little motions with his hands all went unnoticed. 

“Get lost, will ya?”, Louis snarled, going for the douche-kinda way, hoping this one might help.

And it did. The man stopped in his tracks, cocking his head to the side, a small frown edged on his features, the bright smile slowly fading away.

“Pardon?”, his deep, raspy voice echoed through the street.

Oh dammit. Even his voice was pretty, matching the all over impression. 

“Get lost! It’s not safe out here. Go or you’ll get hurt.” Louis made a ‘shoo’-motion with his hands, emphasising the importance of his words.

“How selfless of you! Sacrificing yourself for my getaway?” 

The smile was back on the man’s lips and he moved forward again, only to stop a few inches away from Louis. 

He would be able to smell the other man’s cologne now, if he was wearing some. But there was nothing. Not even the slightest whiff of something.

Maybe it the lack of a smell or how the smile on the man’s lips refused to reach his eyes that set Louis’ alarm bells ringing. But something surely did. 

“There are assassins in this street. I can feel them. You should go. They’ll shoot any moment.”, Louis tried again, stubbornly ignoring his alarm bells.

The other man laughed out loud. It was a fake laugh. Deep and short. With a hint of bitterness.

“Oh really? Assassins, you say? In this very street?” The man looked around, hands still buried in the pockets of his jacket. 

There was something, Louis couldn’t quite put a finger on it, but there was something about this man what set Louis off. What made him take a cautious step back, although he knew that it was way too late to get away. 

“You are one, aren’t you?” He didn’t know how this came to his mind. But it stuck there, bold and bright like a Vegas sign, successfully shutting out every other thought.

“Oh yes, indeed, I am.” The man smiled at him, such a sweet smile, sticky like honey and so so false. 

Louis wanted to laugh. For once, this man just admitted being an assassin. Second, he never would have thought his first thought about an assassin would be “I’d hit that.” For someone killing others for a living he was surely pretty. And fairly young. 

There were no lines on his face that’d show that he lived quite a few decades already. No grey streak in his dark brown hair. He didn’t look older than twenty-three or maybe twenty-five. 

Right after the urge to laugh came the urge to run. But just as the laugh, Louis suppressed this one as well. It wouldn’t make any sense to run, he’d have bullet in the back of his head before he’d gotten further than a few meters. If even.

So he decided for the false act of bravery.

“Then do it. Its basically what we’ve both been waiting for, isn’t it? So go on. Pull the trigger.”

The man rolled his eyes and pulled out a small gun from the pocket of his jacket and pointed it at Louis. Not his head though, but at his torso.

“You talk awfully much.” 

Then he shot.


	3. The drive

Louis did surely not expect to wake up anytime soon. Or anytime at all, that is. He was pretty sure the gun which has been just mere inches from his beating heart was definitely not able to miss it. 

Slowly coming to his senses Louis had the urge to pry open his eyes and try to escape. But before he did something stupid he got a hold of himself, willing down is natural instinct. He kept his eyes closed, relying solely on his ability to hear. 

The soft vibration thrumming through his body and the faint rumbling sound of an engine told him he was in a moving vehicle, a car or a van probably. It smelled strongly like disinfectant and there were voices.

A soft one that reminded him strongly of honey and amber. Luxurious and rich. A slight accent. A young voice. But it had something to it that made Louis wonder which horrors this definitely male person had encountered to sound like that.

And then there was the other voice. Male as well. Louis would now notice this voice everywhere. Deep and raspy, causing goosebumps all over Louis body. It was the handsome guy who shot him. Or tried to because apparently Louis was still very much alive and planned on keeping it that way. 

Slowly and with much care he opened his eyes, risking a quick gaze around the vehicle. It was a car. Not too big, but big enough to hold a small family. The seats were made out of fake brown leather. Louis was lying on the backseats, hands and feet luckily not tied together. They definitely didn’t expect him to wake up. The car windows were tinted dark, dimming the cold and steel sunlight. Tall, shabby buildings passing outside. 

Louis gaze wandered from the window to the front seats. He could clearly see the guy who shot him in profile, dark brown hair still up in a bun, green eyes focused on the street, long lashes casting faint shadows over his cheekbones and plush lips forming hushed words Louis was not able to understand. He smiled and there was a dimple right in his cheek but his smile did not reach his eyes. Louis wanted to swoon and shudder all at once because the dimple was just the cherry on top of the already handsome appearance but the lack of a honest smile mirroring in his eyes made Louis want to retreat, leave and run. Run as far as he could.

The man driving the car had dark hair. Louis squinted his eyes. Black. His hair was black and as much Louis tried to detect maybe a faint brown shadow in the light that was coming through the windows, there was none. Like the blackness was absorbing all the light just to appear even darker and richer in colour than it had before.

As much as Louis wanted to explore if the rest of the man’s appearance was just as fascinating as his hair colour was, the wish to leave kind of outweighed his curiosity.   
Louis saw the holster of a gun peeking out from under the leather jacket of the guy who shot him. But he’d definitely notice if Louis pulled the gun out. He wanted to huff and bang his hands against the seat out of frustration but he had to restrain himself, keep calm with a steady breathing until he found something to ensure his way out of the moving car. 

He forced himself to tear his gaze away from the two men in the front seats to look round the back for something that might help him. At his feet was a black box that had an odd resemblance to an arms chest. If he only could open it and check out its content without anybody noticing, that’d be great. But even Louis had to admit this was an endeavour not worth its while because it’d more likely get him killed that save him.

So very slowly he moved his head to his right to check out if beneath the drivers seat might be something of help. He just needed to ensure the men wouldn’t notice his movements. When he laid his eyes on an assemblage of three smaller guns and two hunting knives he had to bite down on his tongue hard not to erupt in cries of joy. As casually as possible he let his right arm slip down the seat and rest his hand on the handle of one of the guns. With as much care and quiet as he was able to muster he unlocked the gun, the material cold on his palm. 

Louis took a deep breath, sat up in one fluid motion and pointed the gun in turns at the two assassins.

“Look who’s awake.”, came a very much sarcastic comment from the one in the drivers seat and Louis just noticed how fucking beautiful this guy was.

Olive skin, eyes nearly as dark as his hair, full lips, lashes to die for and a face looking like the gods themselves sculptured him. He was wearing a leather jacket as well, white shirt and black jeans ripped on both knees.

“I want you to let me go!” Louis nearly screamed, because excuse him if it was his turn to panic a little bit. He had the barrel of the gun pressed against the temple of the one with the cold smile and the bun. 

But this didn’t seem to fluster him very much. He just gesticulated with his hands, a sarcastic smile playing around his lips. 

“Oh please. Point your gun at me if it helps you relax. But we won’t let you go.” He began to inspect his fingernails and Louis couldn’t help but panic a little bit more.

At the loss of options he turned the barrel of the gun at the driver. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t shoot you in the face.” He was a bit proud when he voice didn’t waver even the tiniest bit.

“I’m driving.” Came the flat answer and Louis wanted to laugh out loud in desperation. 

Sure he could shoot the guy driving the car but he kinda had a point with his answer seeing that they most likely crash into something and kill them all. Which Louis definitely did not want. Die that is. 

The one who shot Louis seemed fed up with his antics as he turned around to wrestle the gun out of Louis’ grip. The thing was, Louis was not ready to give up that quickly. He was shot in the chest (which he survived thanks to whatever), abducted by two too handsome for their own good assassins, in a car on his way to wherever they were taking him and he bloody refused to just handover the only weapon that made him feel the slightest bit safe and in control of the situation.

“Oh hell no!”, he shouted (louder than necessary, yes, but he tends to overreact), trying to stop the assassin from laying his hands on the gun Louis still got pointed at the front of the car.

It happened in the blink of an eye. So quick Louis was barely able to comprehend what had happened. One second the green eyed assassin was leaning back towards him, hands tightly clasped around Louis’, trying to wrestle the gun out of his even tighter grip. The other second Louis was sitting on the backseat, arms at his sides, grip loose and open, the gun dangling from his fingertips, a high ringing sound in his ears, the backlash from the shot he just accidentally had fired. 

The bullet had pierced the windscreen, leaving a small round hole in the upper left corner, cracks like spiderwebs covering the rest of the glass. The car was swerving on the street now, the man driving paying more attention to his colleague than the street and for a split second Louis feared they were going to crash into a lamppost or something similar.

Until his gaze fell to where the black haired guy was pressing his hands, olive coloured skin now streaked brilliant red and the smell of iron filling the car. The unmistakably smell of blood. Fresh blood. And Louis registered he had not only hit the windscreen but also the assassin with the pretty green eyes. 

It was like someone slapped him in the face. The previous haze he was in, caused by the fired shot, lifted instantly and he could hear the shouting coming from the front of the car.

“Harry I swear to you, press your fucking hand on it or you will lose even more blood!”

“Would you mind paying attention to the fucking road? I refuse to die because some fucking idiot has no idea how to handle a gun!”, the one who had shot Louis (and Louis him in return - ha, karma!), apparently named Harry, screamed back.

Louis leaned forward, gun falling down to his feet, not that he was paying any attention to it, ignoring the definite insult thrown his way and instead looking for some way to help. He was quite fond of his freedom, thank you very much, but he did not intend on shooting someone on his way back to his beloved freedom. Hell, he wasn’t even able to kill a spider. 

“I am SO sorry! Can I help you? I didn’t want to shoot you!”, he rambled on, pressing his hands as well over the other ones already bloody hands, trying to contain the bleeding. 

“Remove your hand or I will rip your arm off and beat you to death with it!” 

“So much violence from someone who just got shot by me…”, he mumbled, looking around for something to put pressure on the wound with.

“I said remove your hand. but if you want i can remove your tongue as well.”, Harry growled and Louis decided for the better of his own wellbeing to remove his hands, now as well stained with fresh, warm blood.

“It’s just a graze, don’t worry. Just bleeding like bad.”, the other one assured him calmly, the car back under his control. 

“Would you please stop calming him down, Zayn? He bloody shot me!”, Harry exclaimed, throwing his uninjured left arm up. 

Aha. Zayn. 

“Stop being such a drama queen. Louis, there must be a towel under one of the seats.” Zayn told him without taking his eyes from the road and Louis decided not to ask why he knew his name and instead look for the towel. 

He handed it to Harry who literally ripped it out of his hands, batted Zayn’s away and pressed the light grey fabric against his wound, instantly soaking up the blood and colour changing to a dark red.

Harry leaned back against the headrest, a sight escaping his lips, willing the pain in his upper right arm down.

“You have so much to learn, princess.”


End file.
